


Viktoria

by thegirl



Category: Muhteşem Yüzyıl | Magnificent Century
Genre: Angst, Attempted Murder, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Character Study, Dark, F/M, Murder, Unrequited Love, mentions of past rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 19:07:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8296871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirl/pseuds/thegirl
Summary: Alas, poor villain. You did not write your own story.





	

Viktoria has been staring at the flickering torches for too long. Her vision is awash with blues and greens and reds, but she knows she is in only blackness, only darkness. She’s given up trying to wipe away her tears, and there are dried tracks of salt down her face. Long ago, years ago, her Ariel had told her that she would always be beautiful to him. But he is dead, and she is alone.

Soon she’ll be dead too.

She has said so many Ottoman prayers, so many heretical vows that she has lost all sight of the girl who went to mass every Sunday and used to say her prayers before bed, sipping on bread and wine with her husband. What if God will not give her entry to heaven, where Ariel surely awaits her? She doesn’t know what had she done to deserve this. She had been a kind child, an obedient daughter, a loving wife. All Viktoria ever wanted was happiness. She had served her king, her country, all to avenge her love, but all it got so mixed up in-between – Sadika was born of deception, and hatred, and it was hard to sustain yourself on only your own pain for so long.

Viktoria had not meant to hurt so many people – she had only wanted Suleiman dead. She only wanted justice for her husband. But she had failed – she had failed, and she had been too weak. Too slow. Too stupid. She had succeeded in killing Ayse Hatun, a girl who had never deserved the taste of her knife, she had succeeded in ripping Matrakci Nasuh Effendi to pieces and succeeded in betraying Hatice Sultan, a woman who had been nothing but her friend. But she had failed to do away with the one man who deserved her blade – and her failure meant that she had doomed her own country.

He would go on to vanquish her motherland, she knew, go on to murder her king, as he murdered Ariel. And she was supposed to stop him – Viktoria had been supposed to stop him. Sadika... Sadika had been the failure. She was not Sadika. But, no, she has been Sadika for years now. All that remains of Viktoria is memories – a soft touch, hot blood, scratching lace and a scream. She can still taste the wine they drank at the wedding feast on her tongue. But that had been Viktoria. Sadika was the one who had kissed Nasuh Effendi, Sadika was the one who had given him a rose and worn the necklace he had given her, even when she shouldn’t have.

Why, she questions, had she worn the necklace? Why had she indulged her own vanity, her own heart, her own desires? Why had she felt warmth when Nasuh Effendi smiled at her, felt terror as she was rescuing the two sehzades from the fire, felt unsure as she put the knife to the Sultan’s throat? Why? She was not a human being, not anymore – King Lajos had told her that she was his weapon. She herself was a blade to be wielded, not a stupid little girl with stupid dreams.

She wishes, suddenly, that she was wearing the necklace. She wishes that Nasuh Effendi’s gift was around her throat. She wishes she could feel the silver, the stones, the tingling feeling in her stomach as she fastened it around her neck. King Lajos had presented her with  a far more expensive choker on her wedding night, but even if she had it with her, she wouldn’t have wanted it. She wanted Nasuh Effendi’s gift. She wanted Ariel’s love. She wanted to mourn, and have children, and grow old. She wanted to use her own name and tell her own story. She did not want to be a weapon.

She begins to cry again as she comes to that realization. She did not want to be a weapon. Why had the King decided that she must be? Why couldn’t she mourn? She hadn’t even been given a full week of mourning before he made her change out of her widow’s weeds. She had burned her wedding dress, her husband’s blood staining the memories of their love. Why did it have to be her, and her alone, with the burden of Hungary’s safety on her shoulders? She had been a good child. A good handmaiden, even.  She would have been a good wife.

But she had never been, and never would be, a good weapon.

The ground of the cell is cold, and hard, and her bones ache and her face stings. She remembers Ibrahim Pasa’s promise. _You will die every day. I will kill you bit by bit, piece by piece._ Viktoria begins to cry again as she door opens, and she automatically averts her eyes from the light, but not before Nasuh Effendi’s kind face swims before her eyes, like something out of a dream. She casts her eyes down, she can’t look at him, even if he is a dream. Even if he is a nightmare. _Sadika,_ he begins to say, and Viktoria almost cries. “Viktoria,” he manages instead, and she shivers as he says her name.  It has been so long since someone has said her name. “Why did you do this to me?”

Viktoria bites her tongue so harshly that she can taste blood. She closes her eyes, and swallows. Coppery, metallic, warm and terrible, the blood slips down her throat. She opens her eyes. She still can’t look at him, still can’t look at the way grief and heartbreak twists his face. She had looked at Ariel like that once. The difference was, he had been already dead. “Forgive me,” she chokes out, finally, all her tears having dried up, “I never meant to hurt you.”

The stone her cheek is pressed against is smooth and cool, and yet every part of her body burns. “You fooled me,” Nasuh Effendi accuses her, “You abused my love, and used me in your treachery.” Without any thought, she turns to him, and almost recoils from the hurt in his gaze. She gasps, feeling like all the air has been sucked from her lungs.

“I’m so sorry, Nasuh Effendi.” She says, and something in her stomach twists as he turns to leave. She will start crying again if she doesn’t say something. The last memory he has of her cannot be her weeping. “Nasuh Effendi,” she cries, forcing her weak legs to hold her up as she rises, desperation making her speak. He stops, back still turned to her. “They’ll kill me,” she whimpers, “help me. Save me from here.” Her voice breaks on the final word. “Let me escape.”

She didn’t expect him to say yes.

“I will come at night,” he promises. Viktoria has no sense of night or day, and she waits a small eternity in the dark, staring at the light. God has given her another chance. Allah has given her another chance. She promises to herself, to both her gods, that she will love Nasuh Effendi until the end of her days. She will be a good wife, she will give him children, she will never return to Hungary or to King Lajos, she will no longer be a weapon. She will no longer be a weapon.

She barely remembers the way out of the palace, Nasuh Effendi having to half carry her at times as they slip out the servant’s door, into twisting alleys, around large houses and crowds. The moon is full, and all the stars are following their journey. _Are you watching, Ariel?_ She asks the night sky, the stars twinkling above her. _I am done with revenge. Are you pleased for me, or are you angry?_

Finally, they come out to a ruin made of stone by the sea, a simple wooden jetty leading out a few feet to a small rowboat. Everything is in shades of grey, and Nasuh Effendi eases her onto her own feet as they stop. He stares out at the horizon, and Viktoria shivers. “Why did we come here?” she asks, throat raw from all the hours of saying all the prayers she knew in the darkness, “How will we escape?” A rowboat will not take them out of the reach of the Sultan. Perhaps it is simply to get somewhere else, somewhere with horses? Perhaps there is somewhere here they can hide that she has simply not seen.

Nasuh Effendi smiles – at least, she thinks he does – and tilts his head towards the boat. “Just come,” he says, and Viktoria bobs her head, walking forward.

“Where will we sail with this?” she asks, her voice betraying her confusion. She looks at Nasuh Effendi for reassurance, and he gives it with an easy smile.

“We will sail to Captain Antonio’s ship,” Nasuh Effendi tells her, “He is waiting for us.” Relieved, Viktoria steps into the swaying boat. Captain Antonio cannot know yet that she has decided to give up her life of service. She was not born for it. She doesn’t want it – not the guilt, not the fear, not the pretending. She wants love. She wants peace.

Nasuh Effendi gets rid of the rope from the jetty, and sits, before beginning to row. A weight is lifted from Viktoria’s back. They are away. Soon, they will arrive at Antonio’s ship. Soon, it will all be over. She will not miss Istanbul. “Thank you,” she says to Nasuh Effendi, looking at his face. She now knows she has grown to love it. “I am very grateful. You have saved me from death. But, if we are captured...” she takes a deep breath, “we will both be killed.”

Still, Nasuh Effendi says nothing, his face drawn in concentration as he pulls at the oars. “Did you love me so much?” Nobody had ever loved her so before, not even Ariel. He in the end died for his country, whereas Nasuh Effendi is ready to betray his. For her. Not for honour, not for glory, for her. For love. “No one else loved me in the palace,” she thinks aloud, trying to fill the silence. She needs him to know how grateful she is. She needs him to know she will never forget. “You are a good man.” Finally, he reacts. His arms slow, and he allows the oars to sit upon the gentle waves.

He sniffs, and after a second Viktoria realises he is weeping. He looks up at her, her Matrakci, and she smiles. She knows she won’t look beautiful – she knows her face is swollen from Ibrahim Pasa’s blows, from her own tears, knows her lips are bloodless, but she smiles anyway. She wants him to see that she is more than just her beauty. She is woman. She is flesh, and bone, not a weapon. Not a blade.

But there is nothing on his face but more grief.

Silence, still. Finally, finally, painfully, she understands. A single, final tear slips down her cheek as her smile dies. “You aren’t going to escape with me,” she says, internally laughing at her own stupidity, her own naivety, that she had deserved this second chance. She is a murderer – she is a liar, an adulterer – she has slept with her own husband’s killer. God will not give her this chance. God will not give her her life.  “You’ll take my life.”

She swallows, her throat constricting as Nasuh Effendi’s tears confirm her words, but she finds herself smiling again. It could have been worse. Here she is, on the open ocean, instead of in that dungeon, with a man who loves her, instead of men who hate her, and no witnesses to tells tales of her death. Her eyes are full of tears as Nasuh Effendi picks up a sack.

She is going into the ocean. She will not rest in the family tomb beside Ariel, but she knew that already. There will be no one to desecrate her remains, no one to know what became of her but Nasuh Effendi. It is strangely fitting.

Viktoria puts her feet into the sack, and pulls it up to her waist. Nasuh Effendi’s head is in his hands. She hopes, suddenly, desperately, that she won’t haunt him as Ariel has haunted her.

Nasuh Effendi stands, and walks over to her. The sack is at her neck, and his eyes are full of tears. For a moment, she thinks he will just push her overboard, but he gets down on his haunches and takes the edges of the sack away from her. She stares in his eyes, and sees her own scared face reflected back at her.

“You never loved me, did you Viktoria?” The words tear themselves from Nasuh Effendi’s throat, and Viktoria cannot look at him. If she looks at him, he’ll know. He doesn’t want to do this, she knows it in her bones, but she was dead anyway, and if he didn’t kill her, she has a feeling he will be too. He will do this either way. This way, hopefully, she will not steal his life from him. She says nothing, lets his mind fill the gaps, and his face breaks. She sees it in the corner of her eye, and she wishes she could cry. But no. She won’t. She has cried too much, she won’t now. The water must wash it all away, all her sins, all her joys, everything.

The sack is pulled over her head. The last thing she sees is Nasuh Effendi’s face. "You will either survive," he says as the light disappears, "or become a mermaid." It is a nice lie, Viktoria thinks. A white lie. She is content with it. Then, she is lifted. She can feel the heat of his arms through the sack. A moment passes, then two. She dares hope for a moment that he has changed his mind.

Suddenly, she is thrown overboard, even as she can hear Nasuh Effendi weeping before even sound is lost to her. The water is cold, and her body fights even as her mind succumbs. She sinks, down, down. _Please,_ she tries to say, but she chokes on the salt water instead, and she doesn’t even know which god she’s begging to. _Please, take me to Ariel._

When death comes, it is almost a relief.


End file.
